A/N: I'm so sorry, guys! I intended to get the next chapter up a lot sooner! Anyway, this chapter is horribly written and proofread by your truly (sorry... orz). I've also been throwing around the idea of going back and changing the tense to past; I discovered present wasn't as great, flowy, and easy to write as I hoped it was going to be. What do you think, though? Keep or change it? On the bright side, the chapters are getting longer, and I intend to make them much longer than this. I also discovered how much I love Poland (he's so much fun~!) and how lame of a sense of humor I have~!

To answer some questions, I have seen that video, and I'm hopelessly addicted to the song. V-V As for Alfred, I have the perfect entrance for him now. Thank you to other reviewers! C:

Also, if there's anyone who would like to proofread this and get on me about uploading, I would appreciate it. I'm in search of a beta...

Anything else? I don't think so.

Please read and review~! Constructive criticism is LOVE~! Thank you!

~x~x~x~STORY~x~x~x~

Nothing ever turns out as you expect it. At first, you are absolutely confident that A will happen, but really B happens. Because B happens, A is positively impossible no matter how much you hope for it to be true. It's like starting a vat (because a pot is too small) of pea soup. You work so hard adding different ingredients and nurturing its deliciousness along delicately. Suddenly, though, someone bumps a large jar of spices and most happen to fall into your poor hernekeitto. What do you do? Some people say to start over no matter how long it takes and regardless the time; others continue cooking it and hope it turns out all right; others try to fix it by adding other ingredients or making it into something else. With the latter two, it can go either very wrong or very well. Sometimes you can tell which way it'll go. And sometimes you're not really sure of what to expect; that's what I prefer. That way, you're not disappointed with the outcome. Maybe a little confused, but certainly not disappointed.

"Is everyone seated?" a voice sounds across the room, but not stopping the chatter. The source of the voice, a British man at the head of the room, stands tapping his foot impatiently. His face reads that he does not have the patience to deal with us any longer. My assumption is correct.

"Silence you bloody twits!" he screeches across the room and he gets what he demanded. He was greeted with complete, deafening silence, rapt attention, and a couple looks of shock and fear. "My name is Mr. Kirkland. I understand that most of you know the basics of what your mission is?"

Aha! So I was right! It is a mission! Inwardly, I happily gloat to myself. Most of the others nod their heads, their boredom already palpable.

"You're going to be going to the Surface and report what you find to us," he says, voice considerably quieter and more collected than a couple seconds prior. "You'll each be receiving files written by the original Counsel and us as to what you will be looking for, observing, and everything else you need to know."

He motions to a man on his right. The man is laden with folders, each folder packed with papers I can only assume to be our orders. The poor man hobbles over to the Mr. Kirkland, dropping the mound onto the table in front of him.

"Thank you, Yao," Mr. Kirkland says and briskly dismisses him with a wave of his hand. Yao has nothing left to do other than walk back to his original spot much lighter than he had been.

"You will find everything you need to know in this." He takes and waves the top folder in the air. "Keep what you read in them to yourselves; no one else may know the contents and each file is different. I can't tell you why, but the Counsel has its intentions. Understand?"

A chorus of bored, but anxious, agreement.

"All right, then! When I call your name, come up and receive your instructions, and then please be seated"

"Our first group will consist of Ludwig Beilschmidt."

"Tino!" a voice harshly whispers to me, snapping my attention from Mr. Kirkland and nearing presence.

I decide ignore it, eagerly listening for my name.

"Ivan Braginski."

"Tino!" it repeats, becoming louder and a little more urgent.

Again, I ignore it.

"Björn Erikson."

"Tino!"

I turn to look at the man, who looks back at me with one of the brightest, but oblivious, expressions I have ever seen. "What?" I hiss back, still keeping my ears open for my name. His personality must be as persistent as his hair, which pokes up defiantly in ever direction.

"Berwald Oxenstierna!"

So it isn't Bersve; it's Berwald!

"Aha! So that is your name! Sve was right," he muses the last part to himself, but quickly returns his attention back to me. He, however, doesn't have the time to say his next few words.

"Mathias Sorensen!"

Instead of saying what he originally intended to, he gives a quick, "Be back in a jiff!" before bounding off toward the Englishman in the front. I watch him momentarily before turning my attention to the others who had been called.

The man named Ludwig is still completely alert, leaning forward almost as if in anticipation in his chair. He is the stereotypical German with his blond hair slicked back, icy blue eyes, posture flawless, and an uptight air. His frozen orbs are on Mathias, then flitting over to the other three, then to me.

First is Björn, whose pale complexion matches his just-as-pale hair. Before the meeting I was told he represents the Icelandic population, which surprised me. Pure Icelanders are rare now; the population was so small to begin with, now it's nearly nonexistent. Yet here he is, a full-blooded Icelandic, or so the rumor goes.

Second is Berwald, the Swedish man from earlier. Eyebrows furrowed, he is already flipping through the file he was given moments prior. A second he looks at a page, then flips it over and begins the next. Another second passes, and he moves onto the next one.

I bite my lower lip and follow the German's (?) gaze to the third man – Ivan was it? A chill crawls down my spine as I examine him. There's something off that I can't quite explain, something that sets me on edge. Yet there's also something oddly fascinating about him.

Before I can finish studying Ivan, I hear my name being called impatiently. Had I zoned out?

"Kyllä?" I reply instinctively, then flushing as I rise to my feet. I mentally kick myself for being so foolish. How could I have not been paying attention as I should?

"Here's your assignment," Mr. Kirkland explains when I reach him, tapping it against his opposite hand. A small smile curls up the edges of his lips as he scrutinizes my face. "You've been assigned the most important task of all. You'll may not understand it right away, but you will in due time."

I give him a questioning look and begin to form words, but he interrupts me as if he hadn't noticed. "Do it well." With that, he thrusts the large, but strangely thin, envelope in my hand then nudges me off back to my seat. Reluctantly, I oblige.

"All right, then!" Mr. Kirkland belches across the room, recapturing the attention of my new troupe members. "We would like all of you to function as a team, and naturally you would like to share what your file contains, so I'll have to request from you to not reveal what is in there. We want you to work as a unit."

He makes eye contact with every one of us to add emphasis to the reminder.

"Understand?"

Curiosity growing in the pit of my stomach, I carefully open the seal of the envelope to reveal only one sheet of paper. The little creature, curiosity, starts to gnaw at my belly as I draw the paper out of the envelope.

It reads three words:

Be the tree.

Be the tree?

~x~x~x~x~

With the folder firmly under my rear (I was sitting on it), I scoop up a spoonful of soup and nearly inhale it. Pea soup, it's Thursday after all. I contentedly let some of the soup linger in my mouth, enjoying the savory flavor. Please let there be peas up on the surface. Please let us be able to make this wonderful, wonderful food.

The rest of the meeting had gone without hitch. Mr. Kirkland explained some more finer details, handing us more papers that poor Yao had to bear. The two things, amidst the abundancy of information we received, that stand out to me are the contents of my folder and the bubbling in my throat. Oh yeah, we are leaving for There in one week. One whole week, it's so far, yet so close.

From what I've seen of my new troupe so far, neither Mathias nor Berwald have taken a liking to each other. Mathias will talk ceaselessly to Berwald's annoyance. Björn will come to Berwald's rescue by striking up conversation with the talkative Mathias. The two seem to like each other so far. Ivan will watch merrily, enjoying the little bits of chaos, and Ludwig will purse his lips as if he wants to say something, but will remain silent. Already it's like a dysfunctional family, falling into routine and roles, a dysfunctional family that I will soon come to love.

"I heard in my district that they sent one group up before us," Björn replies to a comment through a mouthful of his dinner. "They were never heard from again."

"That's far from true," Ludwig interjects after he swallowed a bite of his own. "No one has been up There since we came down. There's no documentation."

"But why haven't they?" I ask. "According to the Counsel, we should have been able to go back 50 years ago."

"Obviously the Counsel was wrong," Ludwig states with a shrug, then takes another bite of his meal. "Just a simple miscalculation on their part is all."

"But could it really just have been a miscalculation?" Ivan inquires. Now I've finally had a good look at him. He said he was Russian, and his eyes are violet and his hair is light, much like my own. However, he is much larger than I am. "What if it was a conspiracy?"

"It couldn't have been a conspiracy. A conspiracy like that would have taken too much work and more planning than they could have done," Ludwig replies with the same confident passiveness as before. "They had too much to deal with at that time as it was."

"Are you sure?" the Russian insists, and I turn my attention back to the other three. Björn appears to be searching for words, knowing what he wants to say, but not knowing how to vocalize it. Mathias and Ludwig watch the young Icelander, waiting for him to finally spew his retort.

But there's a quiet we're forgetting. Now that I think of it, I haven't really spoken to Berwald since before the meeting. No one has.

Maybe I should fix that.

"Berwald!" I greet him, my bowl of soup sadly empty. Yet I still have my hands wrapped contentedly around it.

Before he had his his focus on the plate in front of him, a mix of something unidentifiable piling up in the middle. I can't help but wonder what that was and what it tastes like. Almost reluctantly, he looks at me with a gaze that could see right through me and my grip falters, letting the bowl slip the millimeter onto the table and creating a slight thump.

Oh well, it's too late to turn back now.

"How are you?"

Berwald nods and gives me a grunt, taking in a bite of his dinner. His x-ray eyes return to the bowl, and I realize that I had been holding my breath. With an exhale, I realize there's nothing to do but interpret it as a positive reply.

"That's good! I'm well! So you're here for the Swedish sector, aren't you?" I try again. Maybe I can get a sentence out of him! I could make a game out of this!

Again, he grunts and nods, not giving me much to work off of and entirely focused on the food in front of him. In a way, I was sort of thankful. I kind of don't want to face those eyes again, those penetrating eyes again. Pursing my lips, I think of the next question to ask. What could I ask that could possibly get this stone-silent man to say something?

Ah ha! An idea!

"Is that good? What is it?" I attempt once again with genuine curiosity, hoping desperately I can get a single word out of him. I can't lose this game to myself! Wait...

The silent man swallows the mystery meal and opens his mouth ever so slightly to, I can only assume and hope and dream and wish, say something. All of those feelings, however, are crushed as a certain Polish friend of mine plops himself weightily down on my free side, pulling another, an Estonian, down with him.

"I totally wasn't expecting you here, Tino. What a coincidence! Who are your new friends?"

For some reason, I also feel a wave of gratitude wash over me; Feliks has always been really good at getting people to talk. Maybe I can get him to help!

"Well..."

I never did get him to talk. He seemed to focused on his food. Cursed Swedish food. I'll have to ask Mathias for help; he seems to know how to get Berwald, the near mute... Or maybe I won't ask him. I'll try this on my own. I'll definitely get the large, SLIGHTLY intimidating Swede to talk one day. Although he did get an odd look on his face a few times. I wonder why that is...